You know those magnets on the back windows of cars, or stickers? Or whatever they are? They show the family, and now that I think of it, they are mostly on vans. Anyway, they show little stick figures to represent the people in the family, and sometimes the kid ones are very specific, like one stick figure is in a tutu and one has a cap and ball, and they have dog ones now, too, and cat ones, little representations of WHO WE ARE IN A UNIT, WE THE TRIBE OF THIS VAN.
You know those?
Well, yesterday, Sara sent me an e-mail that said, “If we had a rear window decal, it would look like this,” and that was the picture she sent with it, above.
HA. It made me realize, this is the smallest menagerie I have had in YEARS. We would look like this:
Just Bagel, Ansley, and this godforsaken piece of crap demon cat (Yes, those ARE hell flames surrounding him. Also, yes, I gave him fangs.) Now that Boggart is an adult, his myriad disorders and defects are more easily diagnosed:
He is embittered, entitled, prone to hallucinations, agoraphobic, moody, weaselly, dishonest, foul, and suffers from pica (ribbons, bits of string, electrical wires, ANYTHING plastic) and pica induced vomiting (the ribbon-puke can get very festive around Christmas, and all our presents look like they caught RIBBON MANGE…)… BUT ON THE PLUS SIDE, he is not a misanthrope, as it turns out.
Just a TOTAL misogynist.
HE IS. He secretes a strange affection-like substance in the presence of Sam, actively tolerates Scott, but he does not allow GIRLS to touch him. Maisy and I get a reared back head and a YOU DARE expression if we try to so much as fondle an ear in passing.
The boys are welcome to indulge in a time limited bit of scratching on rigidly defined areas of his august person, but several times a week, The Boggart BITES me and even Maisy in passing, casually, should we pass so rudely, femalely close enough that he is forced to deign to notice GIRLS exist. We touch him with our GIRL miasma, we get a little patriarichal nip to remind us we are inferior.
So we only have two actual pets and one miserable yellow infestation. We have no counter pets. No fish. No little yard lizards in for a visit. We have no spare outdoor cats we are feeding. It’s quiet here.
And I am missing Schubert.
I did not realize how much until I went out this weekend and got a DOG BED, a comfy plush red thing, and put it near my desk for Ansley. She has been lounging kinda BEHIND me on the rug as I work, and I wanted to move her more BY my feet, where I could see her, lean down and give her a pet every now and again. She is excellent company.
(Bagel snoozes on the welcome mat in the foyer, guarding the office door, and here we understand the word “guarding” to mean “farting so vehemently that no miscreant-evil-doer can penetrate the virulent cloud to gain office entry.”)
I realized, maybe two hours after I had INSTALLED the bed, that I had put into the EXACT spot where Schubert used to lie. HEH.
Just after Schubert died, we had to get our ancient hardwoods in the downstairs refinished, and I had them go ahead and take out the office carpet and make THAT be wood, too. So the place Schubert used to lie is not comfy now. I got the bed because in my undermind, I wanted to get Ansley to move to the beloved animal slot.
Of course, it did not work out. Ansley HATES the bed. Views it with suspicion and mistrust. It is clearly a DOG EATING VORTEX BED. She has stayed in her carpet spot behind me….And this is inevitable result:
Yes that smug piece of yellow crap has planted his vile anus in the EXALTED SCHUBERT SPOT. Upside? If I need to get disdainfully bitten, at least he is readily to hand and available. Yay, she said in a voice as flat and cold and bleak as Kansas in midwinter.
The upshot is, I am trolling the internet, looking at the cat pR0n. I need a bigger theoretical van window decal. Word.